


many things

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bland being his canon jerky self, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Daisy gets rid of bad boyfriends, Daisy has a father that's not Phil, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Love Confessions, Recovery, Revelations, Supportive Relationships, Talking, True Love, working out my feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x18 future fic where Hive takes over Coulson and talks too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	many things

“No.  I don’t want you to hurt him.”

“He’s part of us, now.  He’s not hurting.  He never will.” Hive looks on her with confusion, wearing Coulson’s face.

This should feel good. _Right_. But it doesn’t.  She can’t explain why, how it’s not like before, when she felt so free and at peace.

Grant Ward’s body is lying lifeless on the floor, and Hive lifts his hand, and takes it apart to dust, as the wound on Coulson’s leg starts to heal.

He was already gone, but now, even his body is, too.  This should make her happy.

“Please,” she says, backing up against the wall, managing to raise her hand. “I can’t-“

“You don’t need to do anything,” he says with a smile. “We’re here, Daisy. Together now.”

“He wouldn’t want this,” she shakes her head, her eyes glassing over.  “I know him. _You_ want this.”

Hive looks down at the prosthetic hand, and twists it, removing it to set it down on the table.

“It’s better if we are on the same page,” he tells her, a little sternly, meeting her eyes.

She lowers her hand and swallows, then walks towards him and looks down at the flesh colored hand on the table.

“It’s…complicated, Daisy.  What we want.”  He explains, and picks up the black one, the older prosthetic, that he’s kept all this time like a trophy, and sets it into place. “You’re so many things to us.”

“He wouldn’t want you to tell me,” she sighs. “So don’t.”

“Admiration, at first.  A crush, even though we knew better.”  He smiles a little at that, like he’s actually remembering, digging through all of these other new experiences.

“We tried to take care of you,” he looks up at her “Protect you. Your father-”

“You’re not my father,” she says back, anger rising in her again.

“We know, but we could be,” he says, putting his hand against her face. “If you let us.”

His voice turns soft, and familiar. “Whatever you want, Skye.”  This is so twisted, she can’t even see which thread to pull at first.

“He’s not like the others.  He’s still in there, I know it,” she says, defiantly.  “Not just his mind.”

“We love you, Daisy.”

She glances up at him immediately, wanting to believe it _so much_.

“Did Ward love me, too?” she asks.

“In his way,” he says, with a knowing nod, searching her eyes the way Phil does.

“ _No_. And Phil would _never_ say that,” she says violently, getting more into his face. “I don’t want to be loved that way. Or like this.”

His face twists and he moves his hand from her cheek, wrapping the fingers of his prosthetic around her neck.

“We want you, Daisy,” he warns. “But there are others. You can be replaced.”

“You’ll have to kill me, Phil,” she chokes out, as she grips his hand when he lifts her off the ground. “But you won’t. Because you love me.  And you’ll never get to say it-”

She feels the edges of her vision getting black and sees his eyes flicker briefly, with pain and sadness and knowing.

He drops her to the floor as she coughs, trying to catch her breath.

“You need to finish this,” he tells her, sounding like himself for a moment, as his head twists from one side to the other, in terrible pain. “I can’t-“

Slowly, she stands and gets to her feet, raising her hand to him. “I’m here. Trust me.”

“I do.”

His eyes close as he feels the vibrations start to move through his body.

 

 

“He’ll be okay,” Simmons says, lifting her hand to set it on Daisy’s shoulder.

She steps back, still not comfortable with her own body around the team yet, now that she has control back.

Simmons gives her a small, encouraging smile, and she lets her eyes fall back on Phil, resting in the medbay.

He starts to wake up and looks around briefly, down at his body, winces at the pain in his leg when he moves it.

She did that to him, when she made sure they couldn’t follow after her.  She’s hurt him in even worse ways, she knows.  Ways she can’t see.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Lincoln croaks from beside her.

“We’re both lucky,” she tells him.  “If he hadn’t come for me, I might have-”

“So worried about Hive controlling us, he didn’t stop to think about himself,” he interrupts.

Phil finally notices them watching and looks tired, settles back against the bed and closes his eyes, like he wants to unsee.

 “We need to talk,” Lincoln tells her.

“About what?” she asks, finding herself circling her arms around her when he tries to reach for her.

“About us,” he frowns at her, then glances again at Coulson. “About _this_.”

“Not now,” she says with a shrug.  What she wants to say is: maybe never.  “I’d like to be alone.  With him.”

Lincoln puts his hands on his hips and gives her a disbelieving look, as she walks past him, leaving him alone in the corridor, and quietly pulls up a chair next to Phil’s bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, as he turns his head to her slowly, and opens his eyes again.

“Like I almost had all my atoms vibrated apart.” He sighs a little as he says it, and raises his eyebrows.

“Funny,” she nods, not finding the humor in it, exactly, but glad at least that he can make a joke.

“Where is Hive now?” he asks.

“Up in orbit,” she says, her eyes staring at the ceiling. “Dead.  We lost Agent Anderson, and Hive needed another host, so-”

“I see,” he says, cutting her off. “We should tell his family.”

“May’s taking care of it,” she says, looking down at her fingers, pulling at the edge of her sweater.

“Look, the things he made me say-”

“None of it was real,” she tells him.  “I know that now.  Even if it felt real.  It wasn’t us, and it was.”

“You are, so many things to me,” he starts to explain. “I sometimes find it hard, trying to put it into words.  At times, I don’t know how you need me.”

“I do need you,” she replies, finding herself reaching across for his hand, then hesitating, wondering if he even wants to be touched by her.  After all the ways she’s hurt him.

“I did put you first.  Ahead of a lot of things,” he nods, mostly to himself. “I never stopped to ask why.”

“And now you have,” she says, pulling her hand back, as he takes her fingers in his, before she can snatch them away.

“I told May that you were like a daughter to me,” he admits, sliding his hand over her knuckles. “She put me on the spot, wanted me to justify why I was risking everything again.”

“It makes sense, I guess,” she answers, biting on her lower lip. “Your stuff with your dad, and wishing he could still be there for you.  The thing is, I have a father, Phil.”

“I know that,” he swallows.

“I needed you to be my friend,” she goes on. “And you are.  And also my boss, my mentor.  You tried to take care of me.  That meant a lot.”

“But-“ He says it, rather than just let the awkward silence sit between them.

“I know you love me. I’ve always known. I was afraid if I told you I knew, that _it_ , _you_ , would go away.  Withdraw.  That I’d lose you just like I lost everything else.”

“I could never leave you.”

She believes him. “I’ve never had someone love me, the way you do.”                       

Her hand lifts to caress the side of his face, and his walls start to come down, he starts to cry as she leans into him and offers him her shoulder.

They’re both entwined together.  Linked by Fate, she thinks.  And she knows.  She decides.

“I choose this,” she tells him, lifting his face away with her hands to look into his eyes. “I choose you.”

He looks confused for a moment, like he was expecting her to say something else entirely.

“Choose me?  As what?” he asks, in a small voice.

“As Phil.  Phil Coulson.”

“I love you,” he says openly, freely, his eyes wide and an indescribable joy washing over his face.

“And I love you,” she answers, and realizes she’s been holding her breath.

They both lean forward together, and seal it with a kiss.

 


End file.
